A Sandwich Held Hostage
by Gingeh
Summary: “But I can’t die!” Fuery wailed. “What would they write on my tombstone? ‘Kain Fuery - Died of Sandwich-related Burns?’” “Now that’d make people look twice,” Havoc chuckled. Fuery glared at him. "It's not funny!" -A smidgen of Royai-


* * *

**A Sandwich Held Hostage**_  
A Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic  
By Gingeh, who giggles and informs you that the actual 'fic is not as crack as the title would lead you to to believe. ...Oh, and she also doesn't own FMA._

**

* * *

**

-

-

-

It was lunchtime, and only two seconds ago Führer Mustang had been happily munching away at his ham and cheese sandwich. However, it had suddenly been rudely snatched from him, and he himself spun around and pushed into and armchair. He found himself faced with a stern-faced Falman, an attempting-to-be-stern-faced Breda, a quivering Fuery who kept muttering apologies and glancing nervously at the door, and a smirking Havoc holding his meal.

"So, Roy," the smoker began, ignoring the Führer's growl at the casual use of his first name – or at being held hostage, it could have been either. "The public wants to know-"

"What public?" interrupted Breda, looking at Havoc strangely. "We're the only ones who really care, I think."

With a glare, Havoc opened his mouth to answer, only to be cut off _again_.

"That's not exactly true," Falman said, running people through his head. "I'm sure Sheska would want to know, and Maria, and Denny…"

"Who cares!" Havoc yelled, waving his arms about. "What _we _want to know is _have you kissed Hawkeye yet?_"

There was a momentary silence.

"What the…!" Mustang found himself fervently wishing he hadn't taken his gloves off earlier.

"We're not buying that anymore, sir," said Breda, attempting his own smirk. "You two have an…an…what did you call it, Falman?"

"I believe I went with 'ambience'," the officer replied thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Shut up Fuery." Havoc glared at the sergeant until his cries were once again at the level of a whisper. "Now, Roy, all you have to do is answer this simple question, and we'll let you go. I'll even give you back your lunch."

"I'll have you drawn and quartered," Roy threatened.

"Sure you will," Havoc replied condescendingly. "You'll have us drawn and quartered, and end up in some political mess even _you_ won't be able to weasel out of. No, you're stuck with us, Mustang, and you'll tell us what we want to know."

"You've all gone insane!"

"Just answer the question, sir," Havoc snapped. "I'm hungry, and I'm craving a cigarette. Now, what is going on with you and Hawkeye?"

"Nothing!"

"There, he answered the question! Can we _please_ let him go now?" Fuery was almost in tears – he didn't _want _to die, he still had his whole life ahead of him!

"Not yet!" Havoc took a careful bite out of his leader's sandwich, ignoring the shout it provoked. "Tell the truth, Roy!"

"Give me back my sandwich or I swear you won't survive the night, Havoc!"

The man, to Mustang's great frustration, took another bite out of _his_ sandwich. "Just answer the question, sir."

"We aren't _like_ that; she's my subordinate – soon to be my only _living_ subordinate!"

Havoc looked at the sandwich with interest. "This isn't half bad. Ham - much better then the mush they serve in the cafeteria. Men, you want a bite?"

Fuery yelped at the mere prospect, but Breda stepped forward eagerly (and then quickly fell back when Mustang tried to yank his arm out of his grasp). Falman shook his head. "Don't push him too far, Havoc," he cautioned.

Havoc shrugged, tearing a piece off of the sandwich and handing it to Breda. "We're not going too far."

"I think we are," volunteered Fuery, who was now cowering behind a chair halfway across the room.

"I think we're all aware of _your_ opinion, Fuery," Havoc retorted dryly. "At this point, _I _am of the opinion that _your _opinion really doesn't count anymore."

"But I _can't_ die!" he wailed. "What would they write on my tombstone? 'Kain Fuery - Died of Sandwich-related Burns?'"

"Now _that'd_ make people look twice," Havoc chuckled.

"It's not funny!"

"_WHAT is going on here?!"_

Everyone froze for a moment, before Roy's face broke out into grin. "Lieutenant!"

Fuery collapsed, sobbing gratefully. "Thank goodness you've come!"

Hawkeye took in the scene before her (blubbering Fuery, embarrassed Falman, frightened Breda, and Havoc - who was frozen with a sandwich halfway to his mouth) for a moment more before sighing.

"I probably don't want to know," she muttered, and then raised her voice to command level. "Falman! Breda! Release the Führer! Sergeant Fuery, please calm down, and Havoc? Give him back his sandwich."

As order was restored, Mustang glared viciously at his captors, and snatched his lunch back from Havoc, who smiled sheepishly in return.

"Now, men," continued Hawkeye, still issuing orders, "As punishment for…this, I want you down in the training grounds with Major Armstrong at six AM for the next two weeks. That includesweekends. Understood?"

She waited for the answering nods, and then ordered them out of the office. As she shut the doors behind them, she turned to her leader and raised a single eyebrow.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, turning slightly red. "You really don't want to know."

The other eyebrow rose to join the first, but she replied only with a brief 'yes, sir' before walking over to her desk and resuming her paperwork.

She pretended not to notice his sigh of relief, or the light blush that was spreading over his features.

He, in turn, turned a blind eye to the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

-

-

-

Breda and Falman were both sent to hospital that week: The former for head injuries received from bashing his head against a hard surface ("Too many sparkles!" he'd screamed from the ambulance. "TOO MANY SPARKLES!"), the latter from a several injuries obtained when Breda used _his _head as a hard surface to knock his own against.

Havoc received a severe lecture from Lieutenant Hawkeye for burning up the practice field (he'd dropped his cigarette while laughing hysterically at Breda and Falman's demise), and was ordered to re-plant _all_ the grass. By hand. Alone.

And poor Fuery had to schedule several visits to his psychiatrist.

Needless to say, the subordinates never again resorted to sandwich theft. (Although they did attempt to kidnap his soup once – all involved parties agreed it just wasn't the same, since after tasting they discovered it was awful, and that Mustang would only be glad it was gone. It was quickly returned.)

-

-

-

_Owari_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_

* * *

_

_Author's note:_

So, did you guys like it? I'm sorry it's not longer...I'm still sick, and, thus, I have had no creative energy since forever. It's very sad - but I wanted to give you something to tide you over until I get better and I can write again. So I pulled this little story out of my archives, touched it up a bit, and here you are! ;P.

Review, or your lunch may mysteriously vanish...:O


End file.
